In the Long Run

Last weekend I babysat The Little Princess for about seven straight hours. I had been looking forward to the occasion for several weeks despite my son’s and daughter-in-law’s reports of her recent fussy and frustrating behavior.

The biggest challenge was the location of the baby-tending, which was my mother-in-law’s home. This octogenarian great-grandmother has many mementos, curios, crafts, and pictures received from doting children and grandchildren, prominently and precariously displayed throughout the house. In other words, her house is in no way baby-proofed.

The Little Princess arrived in her pink and brown leopard outfit, very appropriate for the prowling she did for the next few hours. After studying my face for a few seconds, then grabbing at my mouth for a few more, she’d had enough of me. She wriggled and writhed until I put her on the floor, and she began exploring with her newly acquired crawling skill.

She immediately scurried toward some newspapers on the floor, and ripped into them. As I pulled them from her hands before she could put the pieces into her mouth, she squirted away toward the picture display on the bottom shelf of the sofa table. She headed straight toward the frames of her dad and his brothers (I’m sure it was not a coincidence—of course she’s a very intelligent child), knocked them down, and began slapping the glass. I righted the pictures, but she escaped away to one of the many houseplants in the room and ripped off a couple of leaves before I caught up to her.

I pried the leaves out of her hands, turned the injured side of the plant to the wall, hoping Great-Grandma wouldn’t notice, then spied The Little Princess bee-lining toward the kitchen. I chased her down and scooped her up. I realized I would not be sitting much that day.

She did stay still for a few minutes at one point. She was standing next to some furniture, and became very quiet, but really red in the face, and it was apparent she was concentrating…. Yep, you know exactly what that was all about.

I took Firetop (her dad’s latest nickname for her) into the basement bathroom for a diaper change. There was a pullstring on a light down there that she found mesmerizing. As the ball on the end of the string swung back and forth, her eyes widened with intense interest, and she reached out excitedly to grab it, even though it was several feet out of her reach. She giggled and smiled and stared at that ball as though it was as captivating as a mirror ball at the high school prom.

Later, after pulling her out of a flower arrangement, and saving Great-grandma’s stuffed animal collection from death by slobber, I attempted to feed The Little Princess some strained pears. She was only mildly interested in eating them, so I put her down for a nap with her favorite pink blanket in her porta-crib in the dining room.

A mere thirty minutes later, I heard a scraping, scratching sound coming from the dining room. I knew it was not Great-grandma making the noise, and realized Firetop was awake, although she wasn’t whimpering or crying at all. The noise continued, and then there was a plop, as if something had hit the floor. I went into the room to investigate. The Little Princess had managed to unscrew a knob off of Great-grandma’s buffet, which was within arm’s reach of the porta-crib. She looked up at me innocently with those big blue eyes.

Recharged, Firetop continued her methodical exploration. I rescued her from damaging or being injured by decorative knick-knacks, electrical cords, fireplace implements, and throw rugs, which were infinitely more appealing to her than her own toys. I needed a change of scenery.

Having no stroller, I took her on a walk around the block on my shoulders—she ain’t heavy, she’s my granddaughter! We sat for a moment on the lawn while she pulverized leaves, but delicately fingered the grass. A bottle, another short nap, and suddenly my adventure in babysitting was over.

The Little Princess will visit me in my house in a few weeks. She won’t find nearly as many tempting trouble spots waiting for her as she did as Great-grandma’s house. But she will find Oma C waiting with open arms.